the same old dreary hopes and fears
by WadeWrites
Summary: Flash talks. Batman doesn't listen. (Post "A Better World")


It´s not like him, Bruce thinks, to dance around the subject like this. The Flash is known for superhuman speed, yes, but it doesn't end at how fast he can move his legs. The astounding amount of words he can spew in a matter of minutes, if not seconds, could leave anyone's head spinning. It's not unusual for him to zip from subject to subject without a moment's warning, to shift his attention so quickly you're left wondering what he'd been talking about in the first place. He becomes bored easily, yes, but Bruce thinks it has more to do with the speed at which his mind works, and how he expects the rest of his companions to keep up with him, no problem.

But _this_. This senseless rambling? Bruce isn't sure Wally's even listening to himself at this point.

«...and have you ever thought about that, really? I mean, you probably have, you think of everything, don't you, Bats? But, like, he's been _naked_ all this time, Bats! As in, proper naked, day-you-were-born kind of naked. Have you ever actually seen the guy wear anything he doesn't just poof into? Bats, are you listening? Bats. _Baaaaaaats.»_ And he knows there's no "poofing" involved in J'onn's shape-shifting process, but it's the last thing on his mind at the moment.

He ignores Wally's attempts to gain his attention for a moment, and instead studies the speedster's figure on the seat next to him. There's no such thing as "sitting still" in the Flash's list of body language, but he's fidgeting more than usual; fingers twitching around the coffee mug he's holding with both hands, feet that would be tapping constantly were Wally not sitting cross-legged, head turning left and right like he can't quite decide what to aim his focus at, and vibrating more than a little. Typically, Bruce would chalk his current behavior up to unhealthy amounts of caffeine and sugar (which, he's aware, Wally _needs,_ but there are limits that apply even to him), except. The plates and trays of food and drinks he's scattered around him all lay, for the most part, untouched.

And that's a clear sign of the Apocalypse if ever there was one.

«You're not eating,» is what comes out Bruce's mouth instead of " _are you okay?"_ and it makes Wally cease his babbling.

«Eh? _Ah._ Er, yea, I'm. I'm not really hungry? Right now?» Perhaps the world is ending after all, because Bruce can't imagine anything else that would put a stop to Wally's appetite. He looks out the window of the monitor room for a split second, but all that meets his eyes is the seemingly calm visage of Earth, orbiting the sun as it always does, and there's no alien invasion, no natural catastrophe so phenomenal it's visible from the Watchtower. He turns his eyes to the man beside him, his focus unrelenting on Wally, and wonders absently if he should perhaps contact a doctor as soon as possible.

Wally starts to fidget even more under his stare, the vibrations of his body becoming more noticeable, until finally he cracks.

«Look, I've been thinking, okay? And yea, yea, I know, _that's_ a shocker. But I _do_ have a brain, if you can believe it, and I totally use it, like. All the time. I'm doing it right now, man; you're looking at the Flash's patented Thinking Face. You might want to take a picture,» the rambling's started again, this time with anxiety practically flowing out of Wally, and Bruce knows, then, that he's stalling. Whatever's making the rounds in Wally's mind is big enough that he wants to avoid talking about it as much as he wants to shout it out.

«I keep thinking of. Of the _other_ guys, you know? The other League and... and what they did after I - after the other Flash died,» Wally moves one hand from around the half-empty mug and takes it to his lips, like he wants to bite his nails but knows he can't, not through the fabric of his gloves. Bruce has to think _"ah, of course"_ because what else could it be? What else could put him in this state; put him off his appetite of all things, if not the events that transpired less than two weeks ago? Typically, he'd have been over it in a day or two, his mind working as fast as the rest of his body, but. That, what happened, it shook them all, the whole League.

They all _knew_ , of course, that the possibility of death on the job was not a possibility at all, but a certainty looming over them like a shadow. None of them had illusions of growing old and dying of natural causes, except perhaps, the more resilient members of their team, and even them he couldn't imagine retiring to a pretty house in the country side, waiting for death to come to them instead of seeking it out and meeting it head-on with a laugh.

With a sigh and a light shudder, Wally tears his eyes form his drink and towards Bruce's. And that's just it, isn't it, thinks Bruce with a shudder of his own. That's what it all comes down to, in the end. That everyone in the League, that _Bruce_ , can't- no, won't picture a universe where those eyes aren't shining bright and green and _alive, for fuck's sake._

«Because... Because there's no way, right? That you guys would. Do all the things they did... I mean, I know I'm a loveable guy and all that but _come on_ , right? Bats?» he doesn't sound like he believes a word he's saying, but is desperately trying to think that his team-mates would be better than that, that they'd honor his life and all he was with smiles and not Luthor's blood dripping on his tombstone. He doesn't want to think of his own death and what it would do to them all, and honestly, neither does Bruce. A world without those eyes would be a travesty, and he won't accept it as a possible outcome. He absolutely refuses to.

He can't keep looking at those eyes anymore, lest he loses himself in them and makes promises he knows can't keep, so he doesn't. He turns back to the monitor in front, trying to block out Wally who's calling him again, but he _can't_. He straightens up so suddenly it surprises him as much as it does Wally, the chair behind him clattering to the floor. Bruce is not ready for this conversation and probably never will be.

He makes for the door as quick as he can, but Wally refuses to be ignored (he always does.)

«What- No - _Bats!_ We are **talking** about this, we **have** to!» Do they really? Does he have to think about green eyes turning dull and lifeless, a body unnaturally still, Lex Luthor with a gun in his hand and a hole in Wally's forehead?

Bruce doesn't think he can outrun the Flash, not a soul on Earth that can, but he tries anyway; this is the one thing he's willing to run away from as far as he can. Which is not far at all, because Wally's hand is on his arm, gripping tight and stopping him in his track.

A shaky sigh slips past Bruce's lips and he tightens his hands into fists to steady himself. He can hear Wally breathing behind him, lips smacking together as he opens and closes his mouth, trying to find the words he means to say. Finally, he speaks.

«You... I know you're not like _him_ , the other Batman. I know it, okay? I know none of you guys are, you wouldn't fall as low as they did... Not even for me. You wouldn't betray everything we've been fighting for all this time!» Wally's hand slides down to Bruce's wrist, grips him tighter there, «I don't _want_ that, Bats,» he says, in a softer tone now.

None of them want that, god, but how can they be so sure it's not exactly what Wally's death would make them do?

Wally's stepped closer to him now, and Bruce can feel his breath on the back of his neck. The hand on his wrist slips further down, and warm (always so warm) fingers rest on his knuckles.

«You have to promise me something, Bats,» god, he doesn't want to hear this, «and I'm not taking a no for answer. You know how stubborn I can be,» he does. Bruce can imagine the small smile that must be playing across Wally's lips right now, hates that he can't bring himself to turn around and see it with his own eyes. Instead he closes them and waits for Wally's next words.

«You have to promise me that if something ever happens to me,» _nothing'll happen, I'll make sure of that_ Bruce wants to say, «you won't go batty over it and kill Luthor like the other guys did. No matter how much you want to, okay?» some of the tension eases from Bruce's body at that. Trust Wally to crack a joke that bad.

But. Still. Can he swear that? Can he be absolutely sure he won't cross every line and limit he's set upon himself, should such a thing come to pass? That none of them will? That he would stop them should they try?

No. He can't.

«I can't promise you that, Flash,» the confession leave his lips and he doesn't feel any lighter for it. There's a sharp intake of breathe behind him, a rustle of fabric and then Wally walks around Bruce to stand before him, cowl pulled back from his face (he doesn't want to think about the kind of trust Wally must have in him, to bare his face like that). An angry blush is coloring his cheeks, making the freckles dusting them almost invisible under it, brows set in a frown, red hair messy on his head. Bruce hasn't seen him this angry, or at all, since. Since the _other_ Batman caged them all and promised safety in the form of captivity, since the _other_ Superman proved how far gone he was when he tried to kill Wally.

«You-! Augh, _ah!_ How do I even begin to deal with you, you big dumbass!?» Wally shakes his hands in the space between them like he can't quite decide whether he wants to smack Bruce over the head or strangle him. He settles for the middle ground, bringing down both hands on Bruce's chest in a flurry of slaps and punches that don't even smart through the armor, and Bruce takes them all gladly. Wally couldn't bruise a wet piece of paper with the minimal strength he's applying, and it shows how much he's holding back. How frustrated he is at Bruce.

And it's fine, really, it is. Bruce would rather have a Wally that hates him than none at all.

« _ **Why**_ do you have to be so obtuse about everything! I'm not asking you here, Bats, I'm telling you, you can't go off the deep end like _they_ did! Do you really think I'd want that? For the League to,» he trips over his own tongue, then, like he doesn't want to say it, «to enslave the whole world, to have everyone be afraid of _you_ , who should be protecting them!?» his hands stop their pathetic attack on Bruce's chest, now both palms spread on the bat symbol there, vibrating with Wally's distress. Before he can stop himself, Bruce's hand travels from beside his thigh up to his chest and wraps itself around one of Wally's.

That gets his attention. Closes his mouth, his eyes, rests his head on Bruce's chest ( _no, no, look up, look at me,_ _ **let me see those eyes**_ ) and his free hand holds on tight to Bruce's shoulder, still vibrating. Bruce can feel himself shaking slightly as well, and this time, he doesn't stop his other hand from snaking around Wally's waist and crushing them both together. He's not sure he wants to let go, when the time comes.

«Promise me, Bats,» Wally's breath ghosts across his neck, «Tell me you won't.»

«I...» he doesn't want to lie, he really doesn't, but Wally's warm and breathing and shaking and so _alive_ in his arms, but he knows neither of them will relent on the subject so, «I won't,» the words taste like acid in his mouth and burn with falsity as he says them. In that moment, Bruce hates himself a little bit more.

Just like that, all sign of distress leave Wally in a single, long sigh. The red hair under Bruce's chin tickles as Wally raises his head once more, and his lips ease into that radiant smile of his. His free hand slackens on Bruce's shoulder, but the other one wraps tighter around his, with not a trace of anger in it. Bruce really, really hates himself then.

A quiet little laugh leaves Wally, before he wraps both arms around Bruce's neck in a warm hug. Bruce brings them even closer than they were before, and doesn't bother imagining what would happen if another member of the League should happen to come into the room right then and find them in such an intimate embrace. He couldn't care less, because this. This is perfect and for a moment he thinks _so this is what peace feels like_.

They stand like that for a number of minutes, Wally vibrating happily, like a cat purring; Bruce breathing in and out slowly, his arms strong Wally's form. But all good things come to an end, and Wally gently pries his arms away from him, takes one, two steps back, the distance between them still not quite professional anyway. But what does it matter, when he's smiling like that, as if there wasn't a single wrong in the world that needs to be righted.

Bruce doesn't know what to do with his hands, so lets them fall to his sides; and neither does Wally, so he twists them together, curls his fingers around each other, uncurls them again, and looks around the room like can't decide what to focus on. He settles on the mess of food and plates he's left on both the console and floor, and his cheeks flush again, just a little, but there's no anger there either, just embarrassment.

«I. Should clean that up, huh. Before Supes comes in and pulls on my ear like I'm _five_. He does that thing, you know, when he makes you feel like a lil kid, man-»

«I'll do it.»

«Say what?»

Bruce clears his throat once, eyes trained on Wally's, «I'll clean it it up.»

Wally's smile grows even wider and brighter, «You are _so_ the bestest guy, Bats, seriously don't let anyone tell you otherwise,» he shifts his weight from one foot to another, does a little jump on the spot like he can't stay still (he can't), taps Bruce on the shoulders a few times. He's radiating happiness, nothing like the bundle of rage he was just minutes ago. And that is so like him, quick in everything he does, even ill-placed forgiveness.

«I should really go now, though, our shift's over here,» at least two hours of monitor duty and they didn't get anything done, «and I gotta go on patrol 'round Central City, kay?» he's so eager and awkward that Bruce can't help but let slip the smallest of smiles. It makes Wally flush slightly and he zips out of the room in a blur of red and gold with a «okay, bye now!»

At his departure, Bruce is left standing in a room that feels so much bigger, emptier now, than seconds ago, and he turns around and faces the window. He sees stars beyond it, the Earth turning slowly, peaceful, the Watchtower orbiting it. Feels a momentary sense of calm. But.

The reflection staring back at him is not himself, but it is. The armor is silver instead of gray and black, the bat symbol on the chest bigger and shining like metal; rings of actual metal wrapped around the lower arms, and it's not the Batman staring back at himself, _but it is._ It could be him.

He lied to Wally, much as it disgusts him, but he didn't lie to himself. He knows, should the worst happen (it won't, it won't) he can't promise he won't become the man that's staring at him from behind the glass, waiting for him to crack.

He knows Wally would hate him for it like he' never hated anything in his life, he knows he'd become the monster in front of him, and Wally'd never forgive him, fuck, he's not sure he'd forgive himself...

And yet.


End file.
